Lestrade and Mycroft sat opposite each other in silence. Lestrade had allowed the government man to choose the restaurant and now he was feeling faintly nervous. Mycroft hadn't said anything yet except a greeting and informing him of where they were going so he was just waiting for the dressing-down to begin. He forced himself to eat something but he wasn't really paying attention to food – he had had his fill in Paris. When Mycroft finally set down his knife and fork, he braced himself by taking a deep breath and looked down at his hands in his lap.
"I'm not going to scold you for your behaviour Gregory."
Lestrade's head shot up and he knew he was gaping. "You're not? But…I was sure…"
"Yes, well, I can't really be bothered with dealing with your control issues. Besides," Mycroft said haughtily, "What happens in Paris is none of my concern."
Lestrade let out a short laugh of nervousness so Mycroft shot him a rare look of reassurance.
"Look, if you want to talk to someone about it, I would listen. I do not have friends Inspector but I find that we have worked well together over the years so if you ever need help I suppose you can come to me."
"I appreciate it, Mycroft," Lestrade said with a small smile, "But I think I'll stick to Help for Psychotic Vampires if anything comes up." Mycroft shared his smile briefly before his features returned to their usual professional and emotionless state.
"Moving along, I have a body for you."
"You do know how to cheer a guy up."
"The throat was torn out."
Lestrade sighed. As much as he loved his job, he really wasn't in the right state of mind to deal with a renegade vampire right now.
"Do you have anything else to go on?" he asked exasperatedly.
"Unfortunately, I do," Mycroft replied and Lestrade sat up straighter in interest.
"A message was left with the body."
"What did it say?"
"Get Sherlock."
Sherlock and John were sat side by side on the floor looking at the wall when Mary walked in.
"What are you two doing?" she asked, her brows knitting as she took in what they were looking at.
"Thinking," they answered simultaneously. She sighed, knowing she wasn't going to receive any more than that for a while and moved into the kitchen to make tea.
"So did you enjoy Paris, Sherlock? John said that Greg's friend seemed nice."
"It was stimulating. And Anton's a murderer."
Mary nearly dropped the teapot and hurried back to the main room.
"What?" she squawked.
"Well, we suspect he's a murderer. Possibly a vampire but that's our backup theory," Sherlock replied calmly, eyes never leaving the information on the wall. Mary turned to John who just nodded. She shook her head in disbelief and went back to the kitchen.
"So does that make Greg a vampire as well?" she asked, laughing at her own joke.
Sherlock and John exchanged a look of horror and jumped up.
"That's it!"
"No way, Sherlock! I am not believing in vampires."
"But it explains how Lestrade could commit a murder."
"Well I don't believe he has."
"Oh, come on John. Use your eyes!"
"I am! And all I can see is you being an idiot."
"But if Lestrade is a vampire, then it would explain why we had to go to Paris with him. You're all worried about Moriarty's return driving me insane so if Lestrade left London, I'd be unprotected."
"So now you're saying that Mycroft knows about vampires?"
"If anyone was going to know if the supernatural existed in London, it would be my brother."
"So, if I call him right now and say that we've figured out that Lestrade is a vampire…?"
"Fine!" Sherlock huffed and collapsed onto his chair. "It's a stupid theory."
"I'm sure you'll work it out, Sherlock," Mary said consolingly, handing him a mug of tea. "Not that I know what it is exactly you are trying to work out."
"We're trying to work out why Anton had a bottle full of blood hidden in his house. That then led to this," John explained, pointing at the wall as he took his cup from his wife. Mary, after fetching her own tea, moved to examine Sherlock's findings more closely. The murders ranged in messiness and nothing particularly stuck out. Except one photo.
"When was this taken?" she asked, gesturing to the photo that had caught her eye. It showed a group of officers standing around the body of a girl who was lying in a pool of her own blood.
"That one?" Sherlock asked, getting up along with John to stand beside her. "1964. Why?"
"Because I don't think he should be there," Mary said, pointing to the top left corner of the picture. Sherlock and John leaned in closer to look. Standing behind the officers, almost hidden from view, someone was watching the proceedings.
"That's not possible," John said, shocked by what he was seeing. Noticing his friend had moved and was now donning his coat, he asked "Where are you going?"
"I have a detective to see," Sherlock said and swept from the building. John turned back to the photo, staring with Mary in confusion at the image of Greg Lestrade seemingly unsurprised by the bloody murder.
Lestrade looked up from his place at his desk towards his front door. He had returned home from his meeting with Mycroft in a daze. The news that Moriarty was already acting had come as a complete shock. He wasn't ready to deal with him. But you have to, his thoughts whispered traitorously. He sighed as the sound came again. And now it seemed he had to talk to Sherlock. He smiled at the thought that he had memorised the sound of Sherlock's heartbeat and footsteps. He got up and frowned as a knock sounded through the apartment. Sherlock didn't knock. He opened the door warily and the frown didn't leave his face as Sherlock just swept past him and into his sitting room. He followed the younger man but kept a good distance between them; he was still slightly angry after all.
"What's wrong Sherlock?"
The other man didn't say anything and Lestrade began to get really worried.
"Sherlock?" he asked again, his voice quiet.
"I know," Sherlock replied, just as quietly and not turning around.
"You know what?" Lestrade asked, a horrible feeling that he already knew settling in the pit of his stomach.
Sherlock turned to look at him and Lestrade was horrified to see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes.
"I know you're a vampire."